Doggone
by betawho
Summary: The Doctor's got a little problem, it's short, and furry, and cute as a button...


Amy's kitchen door slammed and she jumped and whirled, spoon in hand.

"Your daughter is impossible!" the Doctor yelled as he stalked across her kitchen, pacing, throwing his arms wide for emphasis.

"What did you do this time?" Amy asked.

"What did _I _do? Why do you always assume it was _my _fault?" he said, glaring at her.

"Okay, what did River do?" she asked, putting aside the spoon and turning off the burner under the soup.

He pouted and glared at the floor. "She refused the gift I gave her."

Amy's eyebrows went up. "And what was the gift?"

"A pmpmmp..," he mumbled, wiping his hand over his mouth.

"What?" Amy asked, suspicious.

"A puppy!" He glared up at her as if it was all her fault. "She said she couldn't accept it."

"Well, she couldn't. She couldn't very well keep it in Stormcage. They'd confiscate it, at the very least." She shoved him down in a chair and plopped a mug of tea in front of him.

"I told her I could keep it in the Tardis for her!" His hands shot up again. "The Tardis could help me look after it, and it would be there for her whenever she visited."

"And when the two of you were gone, the poor thing would probably pine itself to death from loneliness."

"That's what she said," the Doctor stared down glumly into his tea. "What could I do?" he asked, "They were going to _kill _it! He's only seven weeks old!"

Amy sat down and cradled her own mug. "What kind of dog are we talking about here?"

"It's a Shautzerpudle."

"A what?" Amy asked.

He waved it off. "A future breed. Droopy ears and white curls and brown feet."

It sounded adorable.

"Where is it now?" she asked.

"He's asleep in the Tardis. The Tardis created a whole kennel room for him, everything a puppy could want." He looked up at her hopefully. "He's not very big..."

"Oh no, you're not foisting this off on me. We've got the same problem, we never know when we're going to be here or not. No. We'll have to think of something else." She sipped her tea.

His shoulders drooped. He brooded into his tea, his lower lip poking out.

She suppressed a grin. She looked out the kitchen window. It was a bright, sunny day. "Right. Why don't you go get him. We'll take him for a walk."

—

The puppy was tiny, no bigger than her cupped hands, it looked like nothing so much as a cute stuffed animal with licks of white frosting for fur, and tiny chocolate dipped paws. But the Doctor had it buckled into a huge halter as if it was a rhinoceros trying to escape. The little dog pranced along happily, as if proud to need such serious restraints.

He toddled along with bright eyes, tail high, following the sidewalk as he led the Doctor along.

"Is he intelligent?" Amy asked. You could never tell with future animals.

"Sure! He can even do tricks, watch._ Roll over_!" he called. The little dog looked back over its shoulder. It tilted its head so far up that it toppled over onto its back.

"See?" the Doctor grinned.

Amy rolled her eyes. The little dog wiggled all its feet in the air until it churned back upright. It shook its fur to get the grass out, then sat down on its little rump and stared up at them, its little stubby tail beating the grass happily.

Amy rubbed a hand down her face. She was _not _going to fall for those big puppy eyes. Nor from the puppy either!

She looked around desperately. There were kids roughhousing in the park. A young mother jogged by pushing a sports stroller. The mailman pulled up, slipped some mail in the box and waved as he drove on.

The little dog scratched one floppy ear, falling over sideways.

There had to be someone. Ah! She grabbed the Doctor by the sleeve and dragged him over to a park bench. A old lady sat on the bench, a fat orange tabby cat sat on the back beside her, tail twitching as it watched the birds at her feet with a feral stare. She tossed out another handful of seeds, the cat licked its lips.

"Mrs. Shornhurst!" Amy yelled happily. The woman looked up through thick glasses. Two more cats emerged from under the bench, a fat black Persian and a skinny white Siamese. They sat down on either side of her, like sentinels, pointedly ignoring the pigeons.

Amy trotted up with the Doctor, the puppy gallumping along in a jangle at the end of its lead after him.

"Good morning, Amy. Lovely day," the old lady smiled.

"Good morning. I'd like to introduce my friend, Doctor Song," Amy waved at the Doctor, he turned and glared at her for the name.

Mrs. Shornhurst smiled. "Oh, this must be that lovely travel agent you were telling me about." The old lady looked up at him with magnified eyes, blinking long eyelashes.

The Doctor suddenly turned all courtly young rogue. He lifted her hand and kissed the back of the papery skin. "Charmed, madam."

The eyelashes fluttered again as she grinned at him. He grinned back. She looked down and saw the puppy sitting at the Doctor's side, sitting up attentively, like a young gentleman. "And who's this?" she asked, reaching down an age spotted hand to pet the tiny head.

"He's Frisky," the Doctor said.

She laughed back up. "I bet he is. He's lovely." The Doctor bounced on his toes at the compliment.

Amy looked on hopefully. "I don't suppose you'd like a puppy would you, Mrs. Shornhurst?" she asked.

The old woman looked up at her. "Oh, no, Amy," she waved around. "Not with the cats, they don't like dogs. Besides, I'm a bit too old to be running around after a frisky young puppy. Bad knees you know."

"Oh." Drat! Amy looked around the park, looking for another possible victim. The Doctor patted his pockets and offered the old lady an allsorts. He got to chatting with her about the royal ancestry of the Siamese breed of cats and soon had her wheezing with laughter at some anecdote about a royal Egyptian cat, and a coronation, and a hairball on the throne.

Amy wasn't listening. There was Mrs. Carruthers. She had four kids, surely kids could always use a puppy.

"Well, it was nice talking to you, Mrs. Shornhurst," Amy interrupted. "But we've got to be going now. Come on, Doctor, we..." She started to pull him away then was jerked to a stop when he halted.

He was looking down at the red leather lead, which was pulled tight over to the little puppy. The fat ginger cat had the end of the lead in its mouth, biting down with its teeth, preventing the Doctor from pulling the puppy along.

The Doctor looked down and loosened the lead. The big cat dropped the lead, picked the puppy up by the scruff of the neck and jumped up onto the bench. He set the pup down and started licking the curly fur behind its ear. The puppy leaned blissfully into the fat orange side.

The black and white cats jumped up and formed a circle around the pup, laying down and glaring at the Doctor. The Doctor dropped the red lead.

"Well, I'll be!" Mrs. Shornhurst said, adjusting her glasses and looking down. The puppy looked up at her with bright black eyes. The ginger cat looked up proprietorially. And sniffed.

The old lady looked up at the Doctor and smiled winsomely. She shrugged. "Looks like he's been adopted."

The Doctor bent down and picked up the end of the lead, he set it in the old lady's lap. "Never argue with a cat."

The old woman giggled. "You're very wise for a young man. Now," she folded her hands in her lap, "is there any special dietary needs, or..."

Amy left them to it and stepped back. Eventually, once all the puppy's needs had been exhaustively discussed, the Doctor stepped back up by Amy and offered an elbow. Amy took it and they walked away.

The Doctor looked back, and Amy followed his gaze. The old lady was walking off down the sidewalk, the puppy's red lead in one hand, and the tiny chiffon dog trotting along, surrounded on all sides by large proprietary cats.

The old lady bent down and patted the puppy on the head. It licked her hand, tail wagging.

"You know, a puppy might be just what she needs for her knees," the Doctor commented.

"Or maybe, it was that allsorts you gave her," Amy said, not fooled.

The Doctor grinned down at her and tapped her on the nose. "You know what they say, Amy. A spoonful of sugar..."

—

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